Diplomatic Protocol
by Beboots
Summary: Edward hated military functions with a passion. The uniforms were stupid, he hardly got to speak to anyone he knew, and  Mustang NEVER told him when he’d be sitting at the head table... and what did this general think he was doing...?


**Diplomatic Protocol**

Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric really _hated_ military functions. Not only were they inconvenient (interrupting his schedule in such a way that he was incapable of picking his new arm up from Winry beforehand, forcing him to go with one empty sleeve of his uniform tucked into a pocket), he was lucky if he got five minutes warning from some simpering aide, asking him to say "just a quick, ten-minute speech", both as the Fullmetal Alchemist and as A Member of Our Great Military Tradition. Most of the time the aides had learnt not to approach him by now unless it was absolutely necessary, if they wanted the use of their ears for the rest of the evening.

But that bastard Furher _never_ deigned to inform him ahead of time when he was to sit at the head table. At least Al was invited to this one, which was a nice change (most of the time his brother was just counted automatically as Edward's "and guest" on the invitation) but as usual they were split up. Relatives and spouses never sat together at the head table, unless you were at the actual head – it maximized conversation by forcing people who didn't know each other to form acquaintances over the dinner.

Edward always felt self-conscious at the head table (all other tables were round, but theirs was straight and on a raised dais so everyone could stare freely at all members), and so he generally refused (or found convenient field work to do) to attend such dinners if he knew that was where he was sitting. Come to think of it, that was probably why Mustang never told him the seating plan ahead of time.

At least he recognized some faces among the crowd. A large figure, impossible to mistake for someone other than Major Armstrong was sitting at one of the round tables off in the corner. He spotted Sergeant Broche as one of the ceremonial guards watching over the Amestrian flag display with one of those ridiculously blunt golden spears, and he was sure he'd seen that Tringham guy in uniform in the reception crowds (though how Russell had managed to pass the State Alchemist exam with very little knowledge of alchemy outside of the botanical field, Edward had no idea). Al, of course, was sitting down the long head table from him.

The food, at least, was usually pretty good. Though he was a little insulted by the fact that the servers had taken care to pre-cut his food for him. Maybe he was missing an arm (just for tonight, and _whose_ fault was that?), but he was perfectly capable of dissecting his own food one-handed. Maybe not elegantly, of course, but he was a _man_, dammit; _and who was so short he has to have his food cut up because everyone thinks he's a three year old?!_

To make matters worse, that short girl with the weird black and white cat from the Xingian delegation had been making eyes at him all evening.

Aside from the bright colours of the Xingian robes, the crowd was a vast sea of blue and gold uniforms, inter-dispersed by the odd flashes of silver watch. It was the same, too, of him; many would say that the uniform made him look _grand_, but it just made him feel uncomfortable. He was sure that even now, nearly ten years into his military career, he still looked like a kid trying on his parents' clothes. It wasn't that he was _short_ dammit, even if they had had to personally measure him and specially cut his uniform, it was just - just… well, it didn't _sit_ right. Give him back his old red coat and he'd be so much the happier. But no, the bastard Furher even had to _order_ him to wear his uniform, not his distinctive, defining, and all-around awesome coat.

"_You have to wear the uniform to go with the rank, Fullmetal. You're an adult now, though it's hard to tell just by looking at you --_"

"_Who's so short that an infants' clothes would be too big for him?!_"

Oh, no, he apparently had an "image" to maintain.

Edward hadn't had to care about "image" when he was twelve.

At least this dinner was better than _last year_, even if he was still missing his stupid arm. Last year, at the Amestrian National Banquet, he'd been just discharged from the hospital and hadn't even had the time to call Winry, let alone order a new leg… and so he had showed up in his new uniform, but sans leg. It was hard to look dignified and make proper conversation when you had to stump about with crutches, and on top of that, still just a little drugged up on pain medication.

One of the aides had even mistaken him for one of the representatives of the Amestrian War Amputee Association, and had tried to herd him to a small table in the corner. That had not been fun. Luckily Mustang had interfered and vouched for his identity before someone _else_ lost limbs. He had been seated at the head table that night too, only that time he had been pleased to do so, as that pompous aide was reminded of his mistake all evening: every time he happened to glance in the direction of said head table.

But comparison didn't detract from the fact that Edward Elric really disliked attending these functions. He'd be lucky if half of the meal went by before he was approached by some old woman, who would "casually" mention that their son /daughter /niece /nephew /dog or whoever was extremely interested in alchemy, and was he interested in taking on any apprentices?

His answer was always "no", by the way. His "no" was so blatant, it bordered on being rude. Those who knew him from earlier in his military career knew how lucky they were that he only "bordered" on rudeness …

But, as Havoc had so helpfully pointed out to him beforehand as he was driven to the place, if it was _that_ bad, at least he was old enough to get legally drunk at the things, now.

Not that he ever did. He apparently had an "image" to keep up. But the possibility _was_ there. If it became necessary. Yes.

And he was _sorely_ tempted, due to his seating partner's idle chatter. He was on the end of the table, so he mercifully only had to deal with _one_, but then again, perhaps a second would be able to distract the other; it would be like setting two wild dogs upon each other, allowing him to flee!

The man was a general, although how he had achieved that rank with his apparent lack of any redeeming values whatsoever was an absolute mystery. He was rude, and not just that, but oblivious his own rudeness. At least Edward was aware of his short temper and social awkwardness and reacted accordingly.

Not so, with this general. He'd been the last of the head table to arrive, forcing the entire function to be delayed. It was a frustrating unwritten rule of etiquette, as set in stone as the very narrow possible uses of the cutlery, that the entire room could not eat until all of the delegates at the head table had been served, and so all had gone hungry until he had arrived. He was also completely unapologetic regarding his unfashionably late entrance (it was a generally accepted fact that if you arrived _after_ Furher Mustang, a notorious procrastinator, did then you were _really_ late), so one could add arrogance to his list of faults.

For all his rudeness, he wasn't terribly handsome or witty; one of the two usually made up for the other's lack at these sorts of functions. How else could that bastard of a Furher have gotten asked to lead a country? Such qualities, along with sheer force of personality, usually masked other, less desirable, traits, such as, well, Mustang's clearly established laziness.

In any case, the general sitting at his side wasn't even very memorable; nor was he worthy of being so. Edward had forgotten the man's name as soon as they were introduced. One thing the uniforms had going for them: one wasn't required to recall specific names. All one had to do was look at the epaulettes and uniform insignias and one could tell the wearer's entire career background. The rank was right there, and one was always safe just calling someone by that.

Anyway, Edward doubted if one word out of three that came out of this General's mouth was true.

Currently, the general was speaking to his other seating partner, the military base commander of Central City. "And thanks to the valiant actions of the men under my orders," he was saying, "The nefarious criminal Psiren was captured. Unfortunately, after leaving the protective custody of my unit, she quickly and easily escaped, injuring two of her incompetent guards. This further illustrates the serious lack of proper leadership…"

At the moment, they were just waiting for desserts. He'd managed to get through the dinner without speaking to the infuriating man, not even once, but that was only because he'd been distracted by the food. The chefs always arrayed the food in very elaborate artistic patterns on the plates, perhaps to more easily hide the fact that there wasn't all that much _on_ them. Why was it that the more expensive the meal, the less food there actually is? In any case, Edward had been working on being polite, and the food had given a very good excuse – one shouldn't talk with one's mouth full, after all. However, now he had no such excuse, and he _really_ needed to express his opinion on what the guy was saying.

Edward downed his half-glass of wine, and stated calmly: "Psiren is a thief, but she doesn't assault people. She wouldn't have been captured unless she _wanted_ to be captured. What did she steal from the military base?"

There was a shocked pause from the general and he turned to look to his hitherto quiet and easily ignored seating partner. Inherent in the silence was the astonishment that someone would actually interrupt _him_, a general! After this pregnant pause, the man said: "And what would _you_ know on the subject?" Disdain was apparent in his gaze.

Before Edward could defend himself and his statement - loudly - the base commander sitting on the other side of the general leant forward. "Actually, Lieutenant-Colonel Elric was the first to positively identify the true identity of the Phantom Thief." The old man closed one eye while gazing in Edward's direction in a movement too slow to be a blink. Ah, so he knew what Edward was thinking as well. _This guy was absolutely full of shi-_

"Elric? The Fullmetal Alchemist?" The general scoffed lightly. "This – this _child _can't be the Fullmetal Alchemist."

"If you hadn't been so late as to miss the introductions earlier, you would know that, yeah, I am the Fullmetal Alchemist." Edward signalled a passing waiter for another glass of wine.

"That is a dangerous tone to use when addressing me." Luckily, Edward wasn't in the general's chain of command, so he had a bit of leeway, here, insult-wise. He didn't have to worry about being court-marshalled later, although his brother would probably give him a disappointed look if he lost his temper.

"What you just said about Psiren was even more dangerous to say to _my_ face. Honestly, if you're going to lie, make sure you actually know what you're talking about, or at least more than the one you're speaking to." Edward paused, and then smirked. "General." It had a blatantly sarcastic tone.

"Now see here, young man-" Oh, how he _hated_ it when they called him "young man". Sure, in the technical sense, it was true, but the condescension inherent in the tone... It pissed him off. Besides, he'd caught him out in a lie. Edward wouldn't be surprised if the general had never even _been_ to Aquaroya. He'd found that generals had a very loose definition of "under their command". They frequently counted the soldiers that were days away from their command base, and who rarely received any sort of instruction from their "superiors".

"Yes, old man?" Edward countered.

The lines around the said "old man's" mouth tightened. "You know, you shouldn't tell lies. Children should be _seen_ and not heard." _No. He __**didn't**__ just say that… _

He _had_... bastard!

Edward's only hand squeezed his wine-glass. He took a moment to take a deep breath to compose himself. Al would never let him live it down if he embarrassed them both by tipping the glass of alcohol on the general's greying head at a function like this. "You know, _general_, they say that children and drunks always speak the truth." _And I'm almost __**both**_he thought to himself.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, the base commander, who'd been all but forgotten, leaned over at spoke quietly in the general's ear: "Now would be a good time to make a strategic retreat, _general_." Once again, the older man made a gesture too slow to be a blink in Edward's direction.

Without another word, the general stood up. "Excuse me." He bit out, and left. Had he been younger and less composed, one could have described him as "leaving in a huff", but age does lend a bit of dignity to things.

It didn't appear that many other people at the head table noticed the general's abrupt departure, although Alphonse did send his brother a look, complete with one raised eyebrow, from down the length of the table. Ed just smirked back at him and sipped at his glass of wine.

Meanwhile, the base commander clapped Edward on the back and gestured for him to move his chair closer to his. "Very nice, Lieutenant-Colonel. Now, if I might recommend the chocolate cake…?" And sure enough, while he'd been distracted with disgracing the general, the servers had come and gone, leaving behind a delicate-looking pastry, painted with a thin layer of chocolate. And there were now _two_ at his end of the table – he doubted that the general was about to come back for it. Edward grinned.

Of course, these new developments certainly didn't change his mind about military banquets. Oh, no, they were still entirely too much trouble. But if he managed to get an extra desert out of it, well, perhaps he could tolerate them.

Maybe.

* * *

A/N: So Edward has his cake and gets to eat it, too. ;)

Just so you know, I tried to make Ed's little inner rant as realistic as possible by talking to my dad about his experiences (and drawing upon some of the experiences I've had accompanying him to such dinners), as he, too, is a Lieutenant-Colonel (in the Canadian Military) who often has to go to dinners. They're actually as bad as I make them seem in this fic. Oh, and please, no jokes along the "What? Canada has a military?" line. :P

Oh, and I'd like to thank konnichipuu for their awesome reviews and encouragement. You were the one who made me remember that I actually had another nearly completed fic just sitting on my hard-drive, gathering dust.

In addition, I'd like to thank all of my other reviewers, most especially those that who support "Alchemy's Child. You guys rock! I'm still working on "Alchemy's Child", not to worry. I'm just feeling uninspired at the moment, but I'm sure to post _something_ very soon. Fear not! Of course, if I get more reviews, even for this one, it will probably encourage me to write more, quickly... :3


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